


straddling life and death

by missmaddie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Nemeton, Sacrafice, Suicide, lydia centric, narrarator death, sorta suicide ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 10:36:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4301505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmaddie/pseuds/missmaddie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia's been getting good at this banshee thing. </p><p> </p><p>Their constant now, the voices. She knows Allison's last thoughts and how beautiful Aiden thought she was in the rain.</p><p>She learns more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	straddling life and death

She can feel them, dragging her down, pulling her like a puppet, their cries reverberating in her skull.

At night, she’s lulled to sleep, the dead spinning tales of their lost loves and betrayals, their last words on the tip of her tongue.

She’s in limbo. Life and Death. She’ll be walking down the halls and turning into physics when she finds herself tripping over the nemeton. She’ll be chatting with kira and then she has Allison in her arms, impossibly pale and begging Lydia to tell her dad that she loved him.

They all blur together. Allison’s last thoughts and Aiden’s, Matt’s and Erica’s.

Their feelings too. Her heart aches for Erica and Boyd, for what they could have been. She carries the torches they held for each other.

She spends her nights wandering the woods, tracing the names carved into the trees.

she’s getting better. 

Memories dance in her head, ones she’s never seen. Of a thousand mothers shaking her awake and a thousand heartaches. 

She traces Angelina bronte’s name,  taking in the accented vowels and the smell of her perfume.

Lydia sees her best friend and a wet road and red kia.

She sees the heart and arrow and almost smiles as she reads Leslie Mckinnon and Hunter Dents.

The gunshot whips it off her face. She sees them in the hotel, tears running down their faces, phones turned face down and silent. How many times had their parents called?

The daylight streams through the trees and the grass is wet against her bare feet. She lost her shoes a few hours back.

Dawn chases away woefilled lost lovers and memories of infested hotels and the flare’s red lights playing off Scott’s cheekbones.

She sits herself down on the Nemeton. She felt her veins hum with power.

Her teeth rattle. The nemeton was old. Older than death, older than the thousand lives she’d lived by proxy.

The Nemeton. Paige. Jennifer. The roots of the nemeton were soaked in blood.

How much blood and destruction would it lead to Beacon Hills. To Scott and Derek and Satomi.

How many packs would it ruin? 

She stands and kneels before it, offering herself as tribute. She’s seen the past. She’s read history books and lived their lives.

She heard Stiles’ voice in her head. 3 times was a pattern, and the Nemeton wouldn’t quit.

She surrenders herself to it. Prayers fall out of her bloodied lips, only falling silent when she’s pulled out of her reverie by the ache in her hands.

In front of her, messily carved and bloody, is her own name. She feels her throat swell.

Was this really her choice? Or were the lines between Kady Micheals and Angeline Bronte and Lydia Martin growing too fine?

Did it matter? She carved her own name for the next banshee to find. She had seen the past and knew their would always be another.

But this banshee wouldn’t be lead to Beacon Hills by the Nemeton.  No one would, after tonight.

Lydia feels the voices she’s used to sharing her head with fade. How had she ever lived like this, with her head so quiet?

She thinks of her friends. Of Scott and how his eyes would flash and fill with tears and how Kira would sob into his neck.

She thinks of Stiles staring, horrified and Malia holding his hand to keep him from losing it.

She never imagined Jordan would scream.


End file.
